Chapter 9 - The Man Who Was Used to Winning
Marcus knocked once.
He did not wait for an invitation.
The handle turned.
Locked.
Margaret appeared from the kitchen holding a cast-iron skillet.
I stared at her.
"What are you doing?"
"Cooking."
"You're holding it like a weapon."
"I cook aggressively."
Claire looked almost amused despite the tension.
Marcus knocked again.
"Savannah?"
I glanced upstairs.
Evelyn was sleeping.
That decided it.
I opened the door but remained in the doorway.
Marcus smiled warmly.
The same smile he had worn at my wedding.
"There's my favorite runaway."
My skin crawled.
"Don't call me that."
His smile weakened.
"Fair."
"What do you want?"
"Five minutes."
"No."
He blinked.
Apparently Roman wasn't the only powerful man unaccustomed to that word.
"Savannah, I came as a friend."
"Whose?"
He looked past me and saw Claire.
His expression changed.
"Interesting."
Claire picked up her coat.
"I was leaving."
Marcus blocked part of the doorway.
"Maybe you should stay."
She looked at him.
"Move."
For a moment, neither did.
Then Marcus stepped aside.
Claire walked past him without another word.
He watched her go.
"She is unstable."
I almost laughed.
"That's convenient."
"I'm serious."
"So am I. What do you want?"
Marcus sighed.
"Roman is in trouble."
"I've heard."
"The board meets Monday."
"Good for them."
"You own eleven percent."
"Apparently."
"Your vote could determine whether Roman remains CEO."
There it was.
I folded my arms.
"And you drove here to discuss corporate governance with a woman who gave birth ten days ago?"
"When you phrase it that way—"
"That's exactly what you're doing."
"Savannah, Roman is not in a position to lead."
"Because?"
"His judgment has become compromised."
"By Claire?"
"By everything."
I studied him.
"What happens if he is removed?"
Marcus shrugged carefully.
"An interim chief executive would be appointed."
"You?"
"If the board believes that's best."
"Of course."
His eyes hardened.
"You think this is ambition."
"I think you didn't drive through snow for friendship."
He lowered his voice.
"Roman has spent fifteen years treating people like pieces on a board."
That was true.
"He has humiliated executives, destroyed careers, pressured partners, and made every decision based on whether he could dominate the outcome."
Also possibly true.
"I know what he's like."
"No," Marcus said. "You know what he's like with you."
I almost smiled.
"You clearly haven't visited recently."
He ignored that.
"People want him gone."
"Then they can vote."
"Your shares matter."
"So ask me directly."
Marcus paused.
"Vote to remove him."
"No."
His expression sharpened.
"You haven't heard the evidence."
"You haven't shown me any."
"I can."
"Then send it to my attorney."
"This doesn't need lawyers."
"Everything needs lawyers when someone begins a sentence with that."
Margaret laughed from the kitchen.
Marcus's jaw flexed.
"Savannah, don't let your feelings for Roman—"
"My feelings for Roman are none of your business."
"He's your husband."
"For now."
The words hurt.
I refused to show it.
"That doesn't make you my adviser."
Marcus stepped closer.
"Roman cheated on you."
I stared.
"Interesting that you know."
His eyes flickered.
"Everyone knows."
"No. They don't."
He realized the mistake.
I continued.
"You knew before the photograph."
Silence.
"Didn't you?"
Marcus recovered.
"Roman told me he was having problems."
"Did Roman tell you about Claire?"
"He didn't have to."
"Did you give Claire fake emails?"
His face went flat.
"No."
"Did you create them?"
"No."
"Then you won't mind an investigation."
"Of course not."
"Great."
I started closing the door.
Marcus put one palm against it.
Margaret appeared beside me with the skillet.
He removed his hand.
"I would think carefully," he said.
"Is that a threat?"
"Advice."
"I already have an attorney."
"Your attorney won't save Roman's company."
"Maybe Roman's company doesn't need saving."
His eyes narrowed.
"Without Roman, Carter Holdings can survive."
"And without Carter Holdings, Roman can survive."
Marcus laughed.
"You don't know him at all."
The sentence stayed with me after he left.
Not because I believed Marcus.
Because I wondered whether it was true.
Roman arrived that afternoon for his scheduled visit.
I told him immediately.
His reaction was exactly what I expected.
"You opened the door?"
I stared.
"That's your concern?"
"He came to the house."
"Yes."
"You should have called me."
"No."
"Savannah—"
"Try again."
Roman stopped.
Took a breath.
"What did he want?"
Better.
"My vote."
"For?"
"Removing you."
His face didn't change.
"Will you?"
"Should I?"
He looked at me.
"That's your decision."
I was stunned.
"You're not going to tell me how to vote?"
"No."
"Who are you?"
Roman almost smiled.
Then he looked at Evelyn asleep in his arms.
"I've been asking myself that."
I sat across from him.
"Did you know Marcus knew about Claire?"
"No."
"Did you tell him our marriage was struggling?"
"Yes."
"What exactly?"
Roman rubbed his thumb over Evelyn's blanket.
"That I didn't know how to talk to you anymore."
"That would have required being home."
"I know."
I glared.
"Sorry."
He sighed.
"I told him I felt like you didn't need me."
That surprised me.
"I begged you to come to childbirth class."
"I don't mean practically."
"What do you mean?"
Roman stared at our daughter.
"When you got pregnant, you changed."
"That's usually how pregnancy works."
"Not physically."
I waited.
"You became certain."
"About what?"
"Being her mother."
His expression was almost ashamed.
"You read everything. Planned everything. You knew what crib you wanted, what doctor, what birth plan. You talked to her."
"So?"
"I was terrified."
I blinked.
"You?"
"Yes."
"Of a baby?"
"Of being my father."
The room quieted.
Roman almost never mentioned his father.
Arthur Carter had been legendary in Chicago business circles.
Brilliant.
Merciless.
Dead at sixty-three.
I knew he had been strict.
Nothing more.
Roman continued.
"My father believed affection made children weak. If I cried, he locked me in my room until I stopped. If I lost at anything, he made me repeat it until I won."
My anger softened despite myself.
"Roman."
"I'm not telling you for sympathy."
"Good."
"I thought if I worked enough, provided enough, controlled enough, I'd be different from him."
"And instead?"
"I became him in a better suit."
The sentence landed between us.
Evelyn stirred.
Roman immediately looked down.
His entire face softened.
"You can be different with her."
He raised his eyes.
"I want to."
"Then you need help."
He stiffened.
"Help?"
"Therapy."
Roman looked as though I'd suggested joining a circus.
I nearly laughed.
"You think that's funny?"
"A little."
"I don't need—"
He stopped.
I waited.
He sighed.
"Right."
"Right what?"
"I was going to say I don't need therapy."
"And?"
"Evidence suggests otherwise."
I laughed.
He smiled.
Then the smile disappeared.
"I'll go."
"Not for me."
"I know."
"For Evelyn."
"And me."
I looked at him.
"You?"
"I don't want to spend the rest of my life becoming a man people only obey because they're afraid."
That was the moment something shifted.
Not forgiveness.
Respect, perhaps.
A tiny piece.
Dangerously small.
That evening, Roman left at six as agreed.
At six fifteen, my phone rang.
Julia.
"Savannah, are you alone?"
"Margaret's here."
"Put me on speaker."
I did.
Julia's voice shook.
"The internal investigators found who created the fake email."
My pulse quickened.
"Marcus?"
"No."
I frowned.
"Then who?"
"His assistant."
"That still means—"
"Wait. She confessed."
Roman's company had apparently questioned her for hours.
She admitted altering emails.
Accessing Roman's account.
Sending copies to Claire.
"On Marcus's orders?" I asked.
"She says yes."
Margaret sat beside me.
"Then it's over."
Julia went silent.
"No."
"What?"
"Marcus disappeared."
My stomach tightened.
"Disappeared where?"
"No one knows."
"Why should I care?"
"Because he transferred forty-eight million dollars from a company escrow account before he vanished."
I stared.
Julia continued.
"And the authorization carries two electronic signatures."
"Whose?"
"His."
She paused.
"And yours."
My blood turned cold.
"I didn't sign anything."
"I know."
"But if investigators don't?"
Julia's answer was quiet.
"Then you're not just a shareholder anymore, Savannah."
"What am I?"
"A suspect."
Upstairs, Evelyn began crying.
I looked toward the ceiling.
Ten days old.
May you like
And somehow the life I was trying to rebuild had just become more dangerous than the one I'd escaped.
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